Eyes Like Stars Read Online Free PDF

in some cases, rebellious—whispers of the Company. The word-hurricane twisted about the Theater Manager, tugged at his coat, mussed his hair.
    “I might be persuaded,” he yelled into the onslaught, “toreconsider an immediate departure.” As the winds and the whispers faded, the Theater Manager looked at the Players, then back to Bertie. The reluctance in his tone might as well have been a neon sign. “If you can find an invaluable way to contribute, I suppose you may stay.” His inflections on the words “invaluable way” gave every indication that he didn’t think for a moment that she could manage such a thing.
    Bertie tossed aside his lack of confidence in her. “Do you promise?”
    After a very long moment, he nodded. “I give you my word.”
    The walls of the theater trembled in acknowledgment of the promise.
    Bertie felt similarly shaky. “Thank you.”
    The Theater Manager checked his pocket watch again and closed it with a determined
snap!
“You have until eight P.M . tonight to decide what you will do. Please come to my Office at that time.” Face half-lost to the shadows of the auditorium, he added, “I would strongly advise you to be on time, Beatrice.”
    “Understood,” Bertie said.
    The Theater Manager departed, and the whispers of the Players resumed, building to a crescendo. The Stage Manager tried to recapture everyone’s attention.
    “Quiet, please!” he shouted through his cupped hands. “Cue ‘What Will Become of You’!” As the footlights flaredto life, he brushed past Bertie with a smirk. “I’ve waited years to call this song in.”
    Wispy, gray gauze panels unfurled from the flies while the members of the Choruses arranged themselves in a tableau of plaintive misery: crouched, hands lifted in appeal. The orchestra launched into a dirge, and Bertie’s chest vibrated with the pull of cello strings.
    Then the Choruses started to sing:
     
    What will become of you?
    The shadows are closing in,
    The velvet curtain’s falling,
    Much to your chagrin,
    There is nothing you can do.
    The run you’ve had is through.
     
    A pause in the lyrics permitted the men and women to pair off, one movement flowing into another, like raindrops sliding down a window. Muscles strained as they dipped and spun, but their faces wore only mournful grace. The backdrop fluttered in a cold wind, and the end of Bertie’s nose went numb to match her fingers. She shivered as their voices lifted again.
     
    What will become of you
    When the lights go down?
    What will become of you
    When there’s darkness all around?
    The doors open to your future
    But this curtain call’s your last.
    What, what will become of you?
    Your time with us has passed!
     
    They ended, as they’d begun, on the floor in various importuning poses. Bertie would rather drink gasoline and shove a lit match up her nose than applaud, but the Stage Manager didn’t share her sour sentiments.
    “Bravo!” he called, clapping with unfeigned enthusiasm. “Well done, indeed!”
    The Players, wearing expressions that varied from uneasy to sympathetic, coughed and made their excuses before shuffling off Stage Left.
    Bertie glared at the Stage Manager, wishing he’d spontaneously combust or at least get knocked unconscious by a wayward sandbag. “Where did you dig up that awful number?”
    “An obscure little ditty, but so apropos to the moment,” he said, cupping a hand over his headset. “Strike the set!”
    The gray flats disappeared into the flies with a muted whirring noise, and the house lights came up. When the Stage Manager sailed away like a full-rigged ship, Bertie wished she could kick him in the mizzenmast.
    “I have the chance to stay,” she shouted, “and I’m going to make the most of it!”
    “Nyaaaaaah!” added the fairies, making terrible faces at his retreating backside.
    But the Stage Manager only laughed, a hearty chuckle that taunted her as he exited.
    “I have the chance to stay,” Bertie said again,